Thomas
by LadyRach
Summary: Just a story of how a couple of the newsies became, well, newsies. I don't want to give away any names, though (wink, wink). OK, summaries and titles aren't my strong point. Hopefully, stories are. FINISHED
1. New York City!

I slung my bag over my shoulder and looked around. As I scanned the city, I took a deep breath in an effort to calm the excitement that I could feel about to take over. The fact that I choked on an excessive amount of dust and soot from the train I had just exited did nothing to discourage me. I was in New York City! A city I had heard about, dreamed about, and longed to see for my whole life – or at least since Pete, my next-door neighbor, had come home bragging about his adventures in the big city. I smiled as I recalled the condescending way in which Pete had told his stories, the neighborhood children gathered at his feet. He seemed to think that traveling to the city that had become legendary in our eyes, if only for a week, made him superior. Although, the way he told it, he just about owned the city. He was beating folks up when they caused a ruckus, sweeping pretty girls off their feet, and hobnobbing with the best of them. And all this in only one week!

I wasn't fool enough to believe everything that Pete said, but some of it had to be true. And even if it wasn't, I was sure that in a city like New York, something exciting was bound to happen. The streets might not really be paved of gold, but there was something else just as great lurking in them, or else why would so many people flock to them?

My thoughts were disrupted by a huge, muscular man who grabbed my arm and growled in a thick German accent, "Thomas Pickens?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, refusing to allow his intimidating appearance to, well, intimidate me. "And you must be my new boss."

He eyed me for a moment, rather looking as though he didn't like what he saw, then exerted himself enough to growl, yet again. "Follow me."

The man, who I assumed must be Lars Tanner, the blacksmith I would be working for, turned and began plowing his way through the crowds in the trainyards. At first I had a hard time keeping up with him – my instinctive Southern courtesy slowed me down by insisting that I apologize to everyone whose elbow I jostled – but, after one hard look from him after I dropped behind, I gave up all attempt at politeness and just focused on following in his wake.

After what seemed like an impossible number of turns and people, we arrived at a tiny, shabby building that I probably would have overlooked had I been looking around. Which I hadn't. At all. For a moment my excitement wavered, but I quickly grinned cheerfully. No matter, I had all the time in the world to get to know the city. Later. Right now, I had a job to get familiar with.

As we entered the building, Mr. Tanner glanced back once to make sure that I was still dragging behind him, then flung the door open like he owned the place. Which, I suppose, he did. Still, did he have to be so ostentatious about it? But I digress. I gazed eagerly around the building which I would come to know as my home in the future, and I felt my heart sink within me. Instead of the ten or twenty mischevious, hearty boys whom I had envisioned myself working with and befriending, the tiny, dim room was filled by two. One of whom, in fact, didn't even look up as he shuffled by to the forge. The other, however, glanced up briefly from the fire when we entered, and I thought that I detected the shadow of a grin before he bent back over his work. I stared around the shop, taking in the fire, the soot that seemed to coat everything, the constant ringing of the hammer and anvil, and, most of all, the spiritless work of the two boys who would be my constant companions.

"Show him around," Mr. Tanner grunted to the boy kneeling by the fire, then he stalked out of the room, seemingly desperate to avoid any situation which might require any more talking than he had already done.

After carefully placing his tongs out of the fire, the boy got up, wiped his forehead, and stuck out his hand. "Brett Lesbit," he said. I took in his appearance, the sweaty brown hair, broad forehead, and wide, spread-apart brown eyes.

"Thomas Pickens," I replied, in what must have been a slightly dazed voice, because Brett responded with a grin.

"Ah, it ain't as bad as it looks, kid," he chuckled in a New York accent that covered another accent, one that I had never heard before. "I mean, ole Tanner there got a bit of a tempah, an' the woik is rough, but I'se seen woise, ya know?" He turned around and gestured to the other boy. "That there is Mat'tew. He's been here I dunno how long. Longer 'n me, at any rate." He lowered his voice to a whisper, "'E ain't got much spirit, ya know what I mean? Street's kindah pounded it outta him. Tanner takes out his tempah on Mat'tew more'n anything, an' Mat'tew just takes it and takes it. 'E don't got much fight in 'im, an' I t'ink dat boddahs Tanner, ya know?" I stared at the tall brunette, wondering just what had given him that hopeless look.

I continued to look dazed. I didn't know nearly as many things as Brett seemed to assume I did, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to.

Brett grinned again. "Jesus, kid, you look like ya just been hit on da head or somet'in'. Here, lemme show you 'round." Brett proceeded to give me what he called the grand tour of the blacksmith's shop, briefly explaining and demonstrating how to use each tool. He finished with, "The main thing is to stay outta Tanner's way. Like I said, he's gotta tempah, and he follows it wit' his fists, ya know? Lucky fer us, the ole man spends most o' his time up in da front, takin' orders an' whatnot." He paused, then glanced quickly at me. "So, what's yer story, kid?" He knelt down to the fire again, then, looking up, added quickly, "Unless you don't want to tell me."

I was still slightly bewildered, but Brett's comfortable way of talking was putting me at ease. I dropped down next to him, and, as he began demonstrating the forging of metal, I shared what little there was too tell. "Well, I was raised in Grove County, and –"

"Where's that?" Brett interrupted.

I grinned. "Nowhere." He smiled back, and I responded, "Well, North Carolina. But no one really knows where it is, and it doesn't really matter. Anyway, my Mother and Father and I lived in a little house in this one-horse town, and my Dad was a farmer. And we lived pretty good – just everything was boring as hell. But pretty good, still. Then, about a year ago, my Dad died. And, well, I tried to keep the farm going, but there wasn't too much I could do, so we sold all the land and just kept the house. We got by a while on Mother's sewing and my odd jobs, but there ain't a lot of jobs out in Grove County, so I convinced Mother to let me come up here and earn some money. We talked to some people and got me this job lined up, and now I'm s'posed to send some money home every week for Mother to live on."

Brett nodded. "That's a damn good past you got there. You'll see, kids on da street, most of''em don't have it so good." He paused. "How old are you, kid?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fifteen, and you can't be much older, so drop the 'kid' stuff."

"Alright...kid."

"Brett, I mean it."

"Whatcha gonna do about it...kid." He was taunting me now, hurling the word at me like some kind of weapon. We glared at each other for a moment, then I sprung. In seconds, we were rolling on the floor, wrestling for the upper hand. Finally, I pinned him.

"Who's the kid now, huh?" I asked smugly. Before he could answer, I heard Matthew, who I had forgotten about, give a strangled cry. Brett jumped up, and I was quick to follow.

"So," Mr. Tanner muttered in his guttural accent, "This is what I hire you for. To leave the forge and the metal and play around. Get to work!" Then he stalked out.

Eyes wide, I looked over at Brett, who shook his head. "Well," he offered cheerfully, "at least we didn't get beat, right?" I glanced at Matthew, who was already back to work, then shrugged and began learning how to hammer horseshoes.


	2. meeting the newsies

Well, this story has only been up here for a day, so I didn't expect any reviews. Imagine my surprise when I saw that I had not one, but two!! Two reviews! I had to emit several squeals (quietly, so as not to wake my parents) in order to calm myself down. So, thank you so much for reviewing, those of you who did, and, to everyone else reading this story who did not review, how can you not when you see that it makes me so happy?

Oh, and I forgot a disclaimer, so here it is, the only one you will see:

**Disclaimer:** (I love the bold setting, by the way) I do not own the newsies. Nor do I own New York. Or the art of blacksmithing. Or...well, you catch my drift. And I guess I have shares in Thomas, Brett, and Matthew, because, although Disney technically owns who they will become, I created who they were. Wow, that is creepy sounding. Well, carry on!

One bead of sweat kept dripping off of my nose. That is the most annoying thing in the world, especially when you can't wipe it off. And I definitely, positively, could not wipe it off, as my hands were occupied. Arms straining with the effort, I held the tongs steady as I hammered a nail into shape. I hated making nails. It was so boring. It degraded me to, say, watching little beads of sweat drip down my nose. Matthew coughed softly, and both Brett and I looked up, startled, at the first sound Matthew had made during work hours. But, since Matthew didn't even glance up from his work, Brett and I grinned at each other, as I pushed my glasses back up my sweaty nose.

"You know dat's pointless, right?" he asked me for about the hundredth time that week. "Your nose is so slipp'ry, dey're just gonna slide back down again."

I made a face at him. "Yea, well, can't blame me for trying, right? Anyway, you're the one whose been working here for, what, seven months? You got any bright ideas on how to keep them on?"

Brett shrugged. "Well, I never really had much reason to think about it...I'm not a four-eyes."

I glared. I glowered. Above all things, I hated to be made fun of for my glasses. "Oooh, if we weren't working right now, I'd get you good." At the beginning of the week, I probably would have gone for him right then and there. But I had learned. The first time Tanner had caught us goofing around, he'd growled a warning that I had thought bad enough, before I learned what a second offense earned. I grimaced as I recalled the fading bruise on my cheek, then vowed – yet again – not to let the old man catch me doing anything other than work. A faint smile crossed my face as I realized that, in the mere week that I'd been working for him, I'd stop thinking of Tanner politely as "Mr. Tanner," instead referring to him more often as "old man" or "Tanner." I wondered how else I'd changed. Distracted, I shoved my glasses back up my nose.

Brett took a deep breath, but before he could, I said, "Ah, shove it, Lesbit." He grinned back, but before he could do anything, Matthew approached. We both stared in surprise at this unprecedented action – at least in my time working at the forge.

"Gimme yer glasses," he muttered in a thick Brooklyn accent. Bewildered, I handed them to him. He quickly pulled some string out of his pockets and looped it around each end of my glasses, then handed them back to me. "Der," he offered smugly, "yer all set." Without another word, he turned back to his work.

I stared at him for a moment, then said, "Um, thanks." He waved his hand distractedly at me, but, after this demonstration that Matthew did, indeed, have a personality, and was not merely a body with no one operating it, I was determined to press on. I moved to his side, and, bending down, said forcefully, "No, really. Thanks."

Matthew looked up with a small smile, and I grinned back broadly. Sure, he looked as though he hadn't smiled in a while and was rather uncomfortable, but still. I had made him smile. Elated, I realized that I had managed in one week a task which Brett had informed me, in whispered asides and broken conversation, that he had been trying unsuccessfully for seven months. I knelt down to say goodness knows what, but before I could, the door slammed open and Tanner stalked in.

His obvious bad mood – he must have made a bad deal or something – was enhanced by the sight of all three of us taking what he considered an unnecessary break. I leapt to my feet, but the damage was done. Without a word (well, what can you expect? We don't want the man to exceed his word usage for the day, do we?) Tanner backhanded me and kicked Matthew. Then he swept through the room, pausing only at the door to say, enunciating clearly as though we might not understand otherwise, "Get to work."

I scurried back to the nails I had been shaping, then turned to Matthew. "I'm sorry, man. I –"

"S'OK," Matthew replied morosely, but I could tell that whatever good mood had descended on him was gone. Brett caught my eye and shrugged, and we all got back to work.

In my week at the smithy, I had picked up a lot. Tanner ruled the forge with an iron fist – when he was around. Most of his time was spent up in the front with the customers, selling, taking orders, and bartering. While he was up there, Brett and I goofed around, talking and, occasionally, risking a game of some sort to relax our tight muscles, but always making sure to get enough work done to protect us from Tanner's fists...and feet, and open palms. We generally got away with it, but, so far, Tanner had caught us three times, and the punishment had been quick and heavy.

I was constantly sore from the hard work – every night, it took me at least half an hour to relax my aching back and arms – but I still felt as though I didn't get enough exercise. I hadn't left the building once, unless you counted that time I had to chase down a customer to give him the wallet he had left behind. Tanner might be harsh, but dishonest he was not. For the record, I didn't. Count that as an out-of-doors excursion, I mean. I was, after all, raised on a farm; I spent most of my life outdoors. Not, of course, that I wanted to get back to Grove County. There was nothing there for me, not since Dad died. Mother was wonderful, but she wasn't Dad. No, I concluded, New York City is the place for me. If only I could get out and _see_ some of it!

I smiled at myself as I realized that I had, once again, fallen into self-contemplation. Out of habit, I reached up to push my glasses back up my nose, but, thanks to Matthew's string, they were tightly bound to my head. Looking over at him, I saw him looking over at me. I gave him another smile, and he, once again, tentatively smiled back.

That night, after working indoors all day, we had yet another quiet meal indoors, then retired to the inside bedroom that Brett, Matthew, and I shared. After I almost burst a blood vessel because I couldn't find a towel with which to dry my face, Brett asked me if anything was wrong. "Well," I replied sarcastically, "I was just wondering if I'm going to be locked up inside for the rest of my life. Because, you know, I don't know how well I'd do with that."

To my relief, Brett grinned. "Oh, I don't t'ink you gotta worry 'bout it much longah. See, Tanner jus' got a really big order from some carpenter friend 'a his, an' we'se rushin' to finish it. We don't usually work dis long."

I let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Let me guess. The order was for nails?"

Brett started to laugh. "Yea. We usually get outta here aroun' 6:00 a coupla days a week, so I jus' head out to dinner if we got da money."

I turned to Matthew. "What about you? What do you usually do?"

Matthew shrugged. "Nuttin'. I jus'...ya know..." He shrugged again.

"No, c'mon, whaddaya do, Matthew?" Brett asked this time, curiosity filling his features.

"Nuttin', really," Matthew insisted. "I jus' eat here ev'ry night an' go to bed. 'R else I wander 'round fer a while, den come back an' go to bed."

"Is dat all?" Brett asked incredulously. "Well, why didn't ya ever come wit' me when I asked ya too? If dat's all you was doin'?"

Matthew stared at him. "I didn' t'ink you was serious." Then, upon seeing Brett's astonished look, he corrected, "I t'ought you was jus' askin' to be, ya know, polite. I mean, you awready gots a lotta friends, and I'm not...well, I t'ought you was jus' bein' polite, is all."

"You t'ought I was bein' polite?" Brett chortled. "You must have me confused with four-eyes over here, man, because I ain't never done nuttin' to be polite in my whole life!"

I glared at Brett before turning to Matthew and saying, "Yea, and don't think I'm just being polite when I say, I think you should come with us, too. You know, whenever we get out of this building." I shrieked the last few words in frustration, and this time even Matthew cracked a smile. Man, that smile was looking more and more comfortable, and I was glad to see it.

The next morning, when we rushed down the stairs, eager as ever to get to work (and I thought that sarcasm was under control), Tanner was waiting at the bottom to hand us our wages. I had forgotten that I would be getting paid today, and I excitedly counted out half of the money to send home to Mother. My chest swelled with pride as I envisioned her getting the money, using it to pay for something important, then telling everyone who would listen how well her boy provided for her.

"Well, dat nail order is over, and I can tell you what I'm doin' wit' my wages tonight," Brett said gleefully.

"What?" I asked eagerly.

Before Brett could respond, Matthew cut in. "Ev'ry time 'e gets ahold o' any kinda money, da boy goes an' spends it all. I swear, I dunno what 'e does wit' it."

"I liked 'im bettah when 'e didn't talk," Brett muttered.

Laughing, I eyed the fifty cents I had left out of my wages. I was inclined to do the same. Still, I forced myself to dump half of that into a tin jar I had saved for just such an occasion.

Suddenly, Brett jumped up. "It's 8:00! I almost forgot!" He quickly checked himself in the mirror, then darted out of the room, Matthew and I close at his heels.

"What's going on?" I asked Matthew.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Probably dat goil again."

I had to laugh at the expression on Brett's face as he sputtered in surprise. "How is it, I wanna know, dat, even dough ya barely talked to me fer seven months, you know everyt'ing about me?"

Matthew shrank back slightly as he answered, "I jus' watch is all." He seemed to gain courage from my grin as he straightened up and added, "Besides, it ain't like you hide it all dat well."

Brett looked as though he were trying to come up with a scathing response, but he was distracted by a girl walking by the window. We all stared as she walked by, more out of curiosity than anything else in my case. I had seen prettier girls. She was tiny, couldn't have been much more than five feet tall. Her blonde hair did, admittedly, shimmer a bit in the sunlight, and her teeth were quite even and white, but, really, she just wasn't all that attractive. Or, at least, not so attractive that I would stand at the window, gazing at her and drooling, as Brett was doing. After she had walked past, Brett continued to stare after her, oblivious to the amused glances Matthew and I were sharing. Finally, after I began imitating Brett's lovesick sighs and gazes, Matthew chuckled. This seemed to jolt Brett out of his reverie.

"Isn't she da most beautiful goil you'se ever seen?" he asked reverently.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. I burst into laughter. "She- she's very pretty," I managed to gasp out.

Brett glared at me. "What is so funny?" he asked in even, measured tones that might have been threatening...if I could just stop picturing him gazing out the window with that pathetic look on his face.

"Just you, and, and her, and..." I dissolved into giggles again.

"You'll see," Brett said, getting up, "I'm gonna get dat goil, den you'll be jealous."

"Brett," I called after him. He turned around. I arranged my face as seriously as I could, then offered, "Brett she really is pretty. She's just...not my type."

"Pearls befoa swine," he muttered in as dignified a fashion as he could before sweeping out the door. Matthew and I grinned at each other before following him to work.

That night, true to his word, Brett showed me around a bit after work. Matthew begged off, saying that he didn't want to spend his hard-earned money. Brett and I agreed that we would work on him over time, deciding not to push him too fast. Already, he seemed like an entirely different person from the one I had met only a week ago. He was still a little bit skittish, but I could tell that he wanted to break out a little, and I was determined to help him all I could.

That night, Brett took me to his favorite restaurant, a crowded, and, most importantly, cheap, place called Tibby's (A/N: well, where else would they go, right?). As we entered, greetings arose all over the restaurant: "Heya, Bretty-boy," "How ya doin', Snitch?"

"Snitch?" I asked, mystified.

Brett groaned. "Da newsies –"

"Da what?" I asked

"Newsies. Da kids who sell da newspapers on da streets," Brett explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Ain't you got newsies down in Grove County?"

"Um, no," I replied

"Huh," Snitch said. "Well, anyways, 'da newsies are big on nicks. An' dey're usually embarrassing."

A short Italian nearby leaned over and said around a cigar, "Snitch you earned yours." He paused to take out his cigar, then continued. "See, uh..."

"Thomas," I supplied.

"Ya see, Thomas, Snitch 'as been runnin' 'round wit' us fer years. Since before 'is family..." Seeing Brett's face tighten, the boy cleared his throat. "Well, fer a while, anyway. An', when he was little, dat boys was da biggest telltale you ever saw. 'E ran to 'is mama fer ev'ry little t'ing. Well, after a while, we stopped playin' wit' 'im, on account a we got in so much trouble all da time. An' when 'e came back 'round, promisin' to stop an' all, we still called 'im Snitch. An' I guess da name stuck."

"T'anks, Race," Snitch said sourly.

I turned to him, fascinated, "Where did you get your na – nick?"

"Well, I'm da best gambla down at da tracks, see? I jus' gotta instinct," Race popped his cigar back in his mouth and leaned back in his chair.

A burly boy behind him reached over and tipped the chair over, sending Race crashing to the floor. "Race, just 'cause you bet all yer money down at da tracks, don't make you a good gambla," he said amid gales of laughter.

"Yea," added a blonde boy with an eyepatch, "all dose hot tips o' yers, an' just how many of 'em have turned out?" He turned to me. "I'se Blink, fer obvious reasons," he offered with a cheerful gesture at his patch. "An' dat's Mush, but nobody knows why, 'cause 'e won't tell."

"An' I ain't gonna, neither," Mush added forcefully.

The rest of the night was spent in laughter and fun, as the boys teased each other, and, eventually, me, about girls, weird character traits, and past events. The most common topic for me was my glasses: "Hey, four-eyes, can you see me alright?" "Professor, read me a book wit' dem specs."

Itey, a boy who had been introduced as Snitch's best friend, grinned at me and said, "Specs, I bet yer real smart wit dose glasses an' all. He sure talks smart," He said, imitating my accent. He turned to Snitch, "He doin' a lotta readin' an' stuff down at da forge?"

Snitch smiled back, "I dunno, he brought a lotta books an' papers down wit' 'im, but, so far, I ain't seen 'im at it. 'E must do all 'is studyin' in secret."

Eventually, we had to leave. Snitch informed that he spent some Saturday nights at the Lodging House with the newsies, since we didn't have work on Sunday, but today he had decided to get back to work and get a good night's sleep. I was startled at this decision, until Mush leaned over and informed me, eyes twinkling, that the girl who Snitch had watched that morning followed the same path on Sundays. Snitch answered loudly that it was time to go, and we got up. This time, the shouts of "Bye, Snitch" were smattered with the occasional, "See ya 'round, Four-Eyes," and "Catch ya later, Specs."

I grinned. I liked these newsies, and I hoped to see more of them.

**SmartassLeprechaun**: Thankyouthankyouthankyou for your review, which totally made my day. Oh, and by the way, leprechauns are tres cool, as is anything fairytale-ish and anything Irish. Put the two together and I can barely stand it!

**Koodles4you**: Brett makes me smile. And Thomas is a true Southerner. I've always wondered if it's true that Southern boys are more polite and whatnot than others, but, being from Louisiana, it's kind of hard for me to compare them to anyone. They don't seem very polite to me! And your instincts about Matthew are leading you right. Could he gasp become one of our beloved newsies?


	3. in which snitch gets a date

Oh my gosh, I am having such a hard time typing 'Snitch' now instead of 'Brett.' I'm going to go insane when I change anybody else's names. Oh, and, by the way, please don't assume that Thomas' religious views are mine, I just figured that a teenage boy living on the streets in those times wouldn't be very religious, ya know? And "the royal we" is when kings and queens (and annoying teachers) refer to themselves as 'we' and 'us': "It seems we have spilled some water upon ourselves." And this is the most ridiculously random opening I have ever written.

The next morning, as I got ready for church, I was astonished to see Snitch rolling out of bed to get up himself. "I thought you said you 'didn't do da whole church t'ing,'" I said, mimicking his accent.

Snitch rolled his eyes as he leaned against the wall next to the sink where I was washing my face and said sleepily, "Nah, I don't, I got odder t'ings to do."

"Like what?" I asked in astonishment. There was very little that could tempt me to get up earlier than necessary. I wouldn't even have gotten up for church if I hadn't been terrified of what would happen to me if I didn't. I wasn't afraid of God's retribution, but my mother...well, that was a different story.

"Stuff," he said evasively. I stared at him for a moment, water dripping from my face. Snitch smirked and handed me a towel. As a dried off, I suddenly began laughing into my towel. "What?" Snitch asked defensively.

"You're going to watch for that girl again, aren't you?" I teased.

I could tell by his blush that I was right, even as he sputtered, "No, I'm no—I mean, what goil?"

I grinned, "It's alright, Snitch, I told you, I think she's pretty. Pretty enough for you, anyway."

"What are you talkin' 'bout? Admit it, man, she's an angel!" (A/N: That's straight from Pride and Prejudice, which you should all go read if you haven't. Right now. Stop reading my fanfic, because P&P is wonderful). Then he groaned, "Aw, yer not gonna start wit' dat 'Snitch' stuff, too, are ya?"

"What's the matter with 'Snitch'?" I asked innocently. "I'm sure that girl will be impressed by it. If you ever talk to her. Which you won't."

"Hey, hey, hey! (I thought 'ey 'ey 'ey looked weird) I'll talk to 'er! I'm obsoivin' foist."

"Sure," I exclaimed as I walked out the door, "and the day you ask her out, I'll buy you two dinner."

As I walked home from church, where I had seen a couple of the newsies I had met last night – Race, an uncomfortable-looking Mush, and two whose names I didn't know – I tried to convince myself that I felt better now, holier. It didn't work. 'Oh, well,' I reflected, 'at least I won't have to lie to Mother when she asks about New York City churches."

As I entered the room that served as our bedroom and kitchen, I was greeted by laughter, and a hat thrown at my face. "Ha!" Snitch crowed, "better get yer money out, boy, 'cause I got us a date!"

I let out a startled, "What?" before turned to Matthew for confirmation.

"Yep. He's been like dis all mornin', too, so I'se glad you'se back. Mebbe you can shut 'im up."

"Ain't nobody can shut me up tadday, fellas!" He threw his arm over my shoulders, "I got us a date wit' da mos' bee-yoo-tiful goil in town!"

I started to smile – his excitement was catching – but then his words registered. "Wait, us? What do you mean, 'us'? Please tell me that you're using the royal 'we,' not adding me to your little date."

Snitch looked at me pitifully. OK, Snitch tried to look at me pitifully, but he definitely couldn't hide the excitement and triumph dancing in his eyes. "Chance has got dis friend, see? An', apparently, dey do ev'ryt'ing taggeda. So, I tol' 'er I'd set 'er friend up wit' a friend o' mine, an' we'd all be a big, friendly party." He patted my shoulder. "'Sides, you did say you'd pay fer dinner."

I glared at him, then sighed in defeat. "Alright, when is it?" I asked.

Snitch yelped in delight. "So yer comin'? I mean, I knew you'd come, but still...yer comin'? Awright! Um, she couldn't go tadday, so—"

"Why?" I asked.

"I dunno, I didn't ask 'er"

Matthew spoke up, "'E was so excited she said 'yes,' 'e couldn't t'ink straight. 'E jus' kept babblin' on an' on, barely even remembered to set a date."

"Well," Snitch said frigidly, "she couldn't come tadday, so I jus' said, 'Well how's about tamorrah?' An' she said dat would be fine. So, tammorrah it is."

"Alright, Snitch, but you owe me."

"Snitch?" Matthew asked.

Snitch sighed loudly, then walked out of the room, muttering, "You look nice taday, Chance..."

I sat down across from Matthew and explained, "Well, Brett used to play with the newsies when he was young..." and I was off, telling Matthew all about the newsies, their love of nicknames, and how Snitch had gotten his. When I finished, Matthew seemed interested and kept asking more about them. "I don't know," I laughed, "I only met them once. Maybe you should come next time."

Matthew immediately got quieter. "Oh, um, I dunno."

"Why not?"

"Well, I jus' don't really like to meet new people, I guess."

"Again, why not?"

"Dey jus' make me noivous. I mean, what if you can't really trust 'em?"

I thought about this. "But, Matthew, you can't go your whole life without friends."

He shrugged. "'S worked so far."

"Haven't you ever cared 'bout somebody? At all?"

"Yea, an' dey...dey weren't worth it," he shuddered. "My muddah got pregnant fer me, so she an' my Paw was married, but dey never wanted it. Or me. Well, 'e didn't anyway. I t'ink my muddah loved me some. She never liked Paw to hit me. Anyway, Paw was a drunk an' Muddah wasn't much better. I don't t'ink she was before deir marriage, dough. She used to say it kept 'er sane when she took a beatin'. An', mosta da time, I was next in line after her. Only, when I got older, Paw noticed me more. I was sore jus' about every night from da whippings 'e'd lay on me. Tanner's a joke after dat. So, one night, Paw beat me bad. Real bad. Den 'e toined on Muddah fer lettin' 'im hit me like dat. An' after 'e, after 'e" Matthew waved weakly, "y'know, killed 'er, 'e took a gun to 'is 'ead." He clenched his jaw

"I'm sorry," I said faintly, unsure of what to do. I had heard, of course, of kids getting beaten by their parents, but it had always been a distant thing. My parents were angry at me almost as often as I was at them, but I knew that they loved me, knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. I wondered what it would be like to wonder if Mother loved me at all, or to speak of Dad's death as a release. "I'm sorry," I said again.

Matthew seemed determined to finish, now that he'd begun. "So, I lived on da streets. Takin' care o' myself when I was ten years old. A friend o' my fadda's took me in, but 'e was jus' like 'im, so I ran out. Been barely getting' by for 'most seven years now." He looked up. "Den, Tanner offered me a job, so 'ere I am. Savin' my money as it comes an' jus' tryin' to..."

"To what?" I asked.

He exhaled sharply, "I dunno. Get outta 'ere, I guess. Find a family dat's not gonna treat each other rough."

"Well," I said, "you're not going to do that by hiding in here."

He glared at me. "It ain't dat easy, y'know. I been tryin' fer years to jus' make myself trust someone, but ev'ry time I talked to someone, I was scared dat dey'd turn out jus' like my Paw, or me muddah. An' dey have. Paw's friend, Tanner...dey all let me down."

"I haven't let you down yet," I offered, "and neither has Snitch. Why'd you start talking to us, anyway, if you're so determined not to trust us?"

For the first time he looked uncertain. "I don't really know," he replied. "I guess I jus' thought, one more try."

"Then keep trying," I urged. "We're not going to let you down, so come meet some of Snitch's friends, too. Maybe you'll find a family."

Snitch walked in, singing a song that I was fairly certain he had made up himself: "Oh, Chance, I do love you," then in a high falsetto, "Oh, Snitch, I love you, too..." He began waltzing around the room with an imaginary partner, dipping and twirling her as Matthew and I stared. Then he grabbed his hat, "C'mon, I wanna go tell da guys."

I looked at Matthew meaningfully, and he reluctantly got up and followed Snitch out the door.

We joined the newsies in an area that Snitch referred to as "Horace Greeley Square." They were scattered around a statue of, fittingly enough, Horace Greeley. Once again, we were greeted by a general cry of "Heys," and I was delighted to hear how many times my nick was mentioned, unflattering as it might be. Snitch sure was right when he said the newsies liked to give embarrassing nicks. Still, it was nice – and slightly amazing – that they had accepted me so quickly. I just hoped that they'd do the same for Matthew. I spun around quickly looking for him, with a wild idea that he might have run off or something. He saw me searching frantically and smiled wryly, guessing my thoughts. "I ain't run off yet," he whispered, "I said I'd give 'em a chance, an' I will."

Snitch, hearing the whispered conversation, turned to the boys and yelled, "Hey! Cheese it! I got somet'in to say." He paused, so that everyone would settle down, then, as he opened his mouth again, Race interjected in a high falsetto, "I'm pregnant!"

Snitch glared at Race, muttering under his breath, then began to quiet the boys down again. This was hard, however, as they seemed more likely to ask, "Hey, when's it due, Snitch?", and "Who's da faddah?" then to listen. Finally, though, he calmed them down enough to say, "First off, dis here's Matthew. 'E woiks at da forge wit' me an' Specs 'ere." He grinned at the glare I gave him for that, then continued. "He's a little nervous-like, so be nice. Also, I jus' wanna tell all you bummers dat 'ave been makin' fun o' me, I asked dat goil out, jus' like I said I would, an' me an' Specs is goin' on a date wit' 'er an' 'er friend tamorrah."

The boys started hooting and whistling, Race pretended to pass out from shock, and I was bombarded with inquiries as to the truth of Snitch's descriptions of this "angel." Soon, however, the conversation progressed to other topics, and I was able to keep an eye on Matthew while getting to know the newsies better. I thought he did pretty well, too. He didn't talk very much, but, after about a half hour, he managed to keep from flinching at every movement and even looked as though he were enjoying the antics of boys his own age. I smiled and continued my conversation. I discovered that, aside from us, there were several boys who "bummed around" with the newsies when they weren't working their other jobs. I had fun for the first time in New York City. The newsies are a great, happy-go-lucky group. I can only hope our date tomorrow goes as well.

That night, despite my protests that I was only going on one date, I found myself wondering what Chance's friend looked like. Was she pretty? Would she like me?

**Koodles4you:** I'm glad that you like Matthew. He's actually really hard to write because I keep feeling like he's making progress abnormally fast. Oh well, all's fair in fanfics, right? I'm glad you liked incredulous, although, personally, I'm fond of falsetto, which I used TWICE in this chapter. I mean, really it's a great singing word: falsetto, faaaalsetto, falseeeetto, falsettooooooo...(sound of breaking glass) Um...

**SmartassLeprechaun:** oooh, you really are a leprechaun? I won't ask for your pot of gold, but can I play on the rainbow? ;-) I'm glad to hear that Southern boys are sweet. Oh, wait, no...that means that I'm getting spoiled for other guys! (thinks about it) Oh, well, I love to be spoiled. Isn't NC great? I want to live there someday. Oh, and don't worry too much about Matthew. I don't think that I could kill off one of my darling boys.

**Daydream:** YOU'RE FROM NC?? I am sososo jealous. It's so pretty up there, and there are mountains! Mountains, I tell you! And snow! And four seasons! None of which can be found in Louisiana. I have no idea where Grove County came from, and there probably isn't one in NC, or anywhere else, for that matter. If I'd known that I had a native reading my fic I would have done my homework. Actually, I probably wouldn't have, because I'm a slacker. Just don't tell my teachers!


	4. the date

Look I updated again! I'm getting very proud of my near-daily updating. We'll pretend it's not because I don't have anything else to do at night (sleeping is not an option, oh no). By the way, I don't know if y'all have noticed this, but the only time Matthew really talks is to make fun of Snitch. I have no idea why. Poor Snitch! I'll have to work on that. Casa Garcia is this great little Mexican restaurant by my house, and the song I got from this website of Irish songs: Irish songs are so great! Irish everything is great! Oh, (grins proudly) I dropped a clue from the movie as to who Matthew is. (Grin fades) OK, it's kind of not very obvious, but still...

**WELL I'VE BEEN TRYING TO DRAW A LINE HERE BUT IT WON'T UPLOAD WITH THE TEXT SO I'M SEPARATING MY OPENING FROM THE FIC WITH TEXT**

The next day was Monday, and, as excited as Snitch was about his date that night, we still had work to do. Fortunately for him, Tanner was gone, so Snitch was free to babble on and on, gushing about how wonderful Chance was and speculating on the date. Unfortunately for Matthew and I, Tanner was gone, so Snitch was free to babble on and on, gushing about how wonderful Chance was and speculating on the date. "...an' den, I asked 'er if she wanted to go out sometime, an' she kinda smiled a little bit an' said, 'sure,' an' she looked down, like she was maybe embarrassed or sumtin', den she looked back up at me real fast" – here Snitch offered his version of a bashful female, causing Mathew to go into silent convulsions – "an' den I said," – now he assumed a suave, masculine posture – "'How 'bout lunch today?', only she—"

Matthew finally let out a real laugh, causing Snitch to turn around. "Oh, is that how it went, Snitch?" Matthew rose, and the eager, excited look he gave was vastly different from Snitch's nonchalant pose (A/N: wow, I didn't think I could say "he acted like this" in so many different ways!) "Really? I mean, really? You wanna go out wit' me? I mean, not dat I didn't t'ink you would – well, I wasn't _dat_ sure you would, but, well, um...really?"

Snitch glared at him. "Who's tellin' dis story, you or me? I gotta finish telling ole Spectacles over here what happened." Since I had already heard the story four times today – and it was only 9:40 – I was pretty sure that this interruption wasn't going to do me much harm, and said as much. Snitch switched his glare over to me for about two seconds before launching into the other much-abused topic of the morning. "I hope da date goes OK. What if she don't like where I take 'er? Or what if," he swallowed sharply, "what if she don't like me? Or she don't 'ave fun?"

I rolled my eyes. "Snitch, she agreed to go out with you – God knows why – " this earned me yet another patented Snitch glare, "so she must like you at least a little, right?"

"Yea, but dat don't mean dat she'll keep likin' me tonight."

"Snitch," I got up, still holding the red-hot tongs in my hand, "if you say one more thing about Chance or the date, I'll brand you with these tongs." I sat back down. "Don't worry about it. It'll be fine."

Two whole minutes passed by in silence before Snitch exploded, "Specs, how come you ain't nervous?" Now, this wasn't exactly true, but since I tended not to babble on and on like Snitch – and since I hadn't managed to say anything all morning except to reassure him – he couldn't tell. There was no way he could know that I had a little fluttering in my stomach, or that the same questions that I had fallen asleep to kept running through my mind. 'What is Chance's friend like? Is she pretty? Will she like me?'

"I dunno, Snitch, I'm just not. I guess I'm just used to having girls fawn all over me," I deadpanned. Snitch stared, but Matthew guffawed. After a while, Snitch joined in. I grinned reluctantly. "Hey, you didn't have to laugh quite so hard, you know. Look, would you please calm down? It'll be fine. I'll be right there with you, and if it turns out to be awful, we can just struggle through it, lie about it, and make jokes about it later."

We got through the rest of the day without mention of Chance. Haha, you believed it for a second didn't you? Nope, the only respite we got was when we would threaten Snitch with bodily harm, and even then the break wasn't long. "Even I can't wait till this date, jus' to stop Snitch talkin' 'bout it," Matthew groaned after he had gone so far as to tie and gag Snitch.

Unfortunately, he had to be released, because he kept rolling around on the floor, knocking things over and tripping us. And, the second he was up, he said, "What if I get on her nerves by talkin' too much?"

Finally, we finished work for the day, Tanner came back and grunted over our metal (A/N: I'm starting to feel really stupid when I write about blacksmith stuff. All I can think of for them to make is nails and horseshoes!), and we were free to go. Matthew lounged on his bed, watching in amusement as Snitch and I washed up and changed. "Snitch, you don't hafta look like yer goin' to a funeral, you know," he laughed.

"Yea, yea, jus' hand me da towel."

"I should start chargin' fer dis," he muttered as he reached above his bed for it. Finally, we were ready. "G'luck," Matthew called out as we left.

"I'm gonna need it," Snitch moaned.

"You know, Matthew's right," I said, as cheerfully as I could with butterflies performing complicated aerobatics in my stomach, "you look like somebody's died. Chance is going to think you're not happy to see her."

"You can talk, you don't got nuttin' to worry 'bout"

"Well, at least you know that Chance is pretty, nice, and likes you enough to go on a date with you. I mean, her friend could be..." I trailed off as the girls approached. "We're meeting them here? Now? In front of the shop?" I whispered fiercely. Snitch didn't answer, but he didn't really have to as the answer was fairly obvious.

Chance was walking in front, so I didn't have a very good view of her friend, but, from what I could tell, she wasn't too bad. "Heya, Chance!" Snitch called out. She smiled in reply. "Ready to go?" he asked as they reached us.

"Sure," Chance said, just as nervously as Snitch, I noticed. Then, "Oh!" She turned to me, "You must be Thomas."

"Oh, it's Specs now," Snitch interjected, smirking at me. I scowled, but quickly rearranged it to a smile.

"Dis is my friend, Maria," Chance said, dragging her forward, and I was met with the warmest pair of chocolate-brown eyes I had ever seen. I stared at them for a short moment before greeting her, but I don't think she noticed, as she smiled a shy "hey" in response.

"Well, let's go," said Snitch, as he led the way to the restaurant. We stayed in a close group on the way there, not really comfortable enough to separate as couples. It was just easier that way; Snitch and I kept bouncing jokes off of each other, and Maria and Chance turned to each other for confirmation in stories. Eventually, Chance and Snitch took over the conversation, for which I was grateful. I'm much better at one-on-one then in groups, anyway, at least until I'm comfortable, and I think Maria was shy. I kept sneaking sideways glances at Maria, that is, until I caught her doing the same to me. We both blushed and stared straight ahead. Even from those few peeks, I was satisfied that I was walking next to the most beautiful girl in all of New York. She was dark-skinned – obviously Spanish – with soft, shiny black hair that swung to just the right length. She had curves in all the right places, and rosy lips that were just begging to be kissed. Especially when she smiled secretly to herself, like she was doing now. Now? Wait, I was staring at her again!

"Um," I cleared my throat, "where do you work, Maria?"

"In my family's restaurant," she replied in a strong Spanish accent.

"Oh. I work at the blacksmith's"

She smiled at me. "I know"

"Oh. Right." Of course she knew! She had met us in front of the shop. Stupid, stupid, stupid – oh, we're here.

I grabbed the door and held it open for Chance and Maria. Chance raised her eyebrows. "Well, Maria, it looks like you've got quite the gentleman." Maria smiled at me in thanks as she walked through the door.

I grabbed Snitch before he could walk through. "God, she's gorgeous."

Snitch smiled dreamily, "I know."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Not Chance. Maria."

Snitch looked over at the girls as we walked behind them to the table. "Yea, she's pretty, I guess. Still, she's got nothing on Chance." This time, I didn't even fight the eye roll. Really, that boy couldn't recognize beauty when he saw it.

Dinner was fairly uneventful, for me at least. Like I said, I don't do to well with new groups, so I didn't talk very much. I just smiled at Maria a lot over my food as Chance and Snitch chattered away happily, and I was glad to see that she smiled back just as much. After dinner, Chance suggested a stroll through Central Park, an idea to which Snitch quickly agreed. This time, as we walked, Chance and Snitch separated from Maria and I, eventually losing us completely. I didn't mind – I liked walking next to Maria in silence. She was close enough to occasionally brush against me, and I could feel the tempo of her walk mingled with my longer strides. I could have continued like that all night, but I felt pressure to say something, anything, just to let her know that I was still there.

She shivered, giving me an opening. "Cold?" I asked.

"A little," she replied, but before the words were even out of her mouth, I was handing her my jacket. She took it, looking startled, and said, "But won't you be cold?" I shrugged, then shook my head. She smiled suddenly – a real smile, dimples and all, instead of the sweet, shy ones that she had been giving me all night. I was so caught up in trying to decide which kind I liked better, I almost missed what she said next. "You really are a gentleman, aren't you?"

Surprised, I said "No. Not really. I mean, any other guy would have done the same."

"Maybe where you're from, but not here. Not in New York."

"Oh," I responded intelligently, at a loss for words.

"It's a nice change," she continued.

I started to say "Oh" again, then changed my mind, spitting out the first thing that came to mind. "North Carolina."

"What?" she asked, startled.

"That's where I'm from. A little town in North Carolina. Down South."

"Specs," she hesitated, "is it very different there? Where do you like better?"

"I don't know," I responded thoughtfully. "Yea, I guess. It's...slower there. And quieter. Less exciting, that's for sure, but still, there's something about it. Peaceful, I guess that's it. Boring, sometimes, but peaceful." I looked over at her. "What about you? What's it like where you're from?"

"Well," she said, dragging the word out. Then she gave me another one of her million-dollar smiles, "boring, but peaceful."

"Hey, that's cheating," I said, pretending to be stern.

"I know," she laughed, "but you really nailed it. I come from a small village in Spain, and there's just less going on than there is here."

I nodded, "So, why did you leave?"

Maria paused, and, too late I remembered what Snitch had said about the hard lives of street kids, remembered Matthew's history. Then she continued easily, and I sighed in relief. "We just...there was nothing left for us there. We lived well, but not so well. My father was a farmer, and we got by, but there was never more than enough, and that worried him. So, he took a boat over here when I was seven, and by the time I was nine, we were here. In America. It was hard to learn the language, but when you are so young, you adapt well. So, now you see me, six years later, speaking English like a native. If only not for this accent."

"I like your accent," I said. "It's like a sunset on rolling hills." I was talking nonsense now, and I knew it, but this girl just brought that out in me. I was worried that she would think I was ridiculous, but, to my surprise, she laughed softly.

"If my accent is a sunset on rolling hills, yours is a still forest with the sun shining through."

I laughed, too. "Now we're both talking nonsense," I said out loud.

She made a face. "Yes, I suppose we are. Oh, well, it was bound to happen eventually. Something about the moonlight, I suppose."

"Yes, well, speaking of moonlight, that means it nighttime, which, sadly, also means good night," I said. "I have work tomorrow, and I'm sure your family doesn't want you out too late. Come on, I'll walk you home."

Our conversation on the walk to Maria's house was slightly more rational than the one we had just had. Actually, there was nothing remarkable about it, but I felt like I was floating the whole time. Especially when our hands caught, and, although we both blushed a little – she looked so pretty when she blushed – we didn't let go. When we reached her apartment, which was built above her family's restaurant, six blocks over and three down from the blacksmith's, we stopped to say goodnight. I looked at her, and I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to touch her soft, wavy hair and hold her close. I was pretty sure that she wouldn't mind. Instead, I dropped her hand and said, "Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Specs," she replied. She smiled that small, secret smile of hers and, standing on tiptoe, kissed me on the cheek. Then she hurried inside without looking back at me.

I stood there for a few moments longer, under the sign that announced "Casa Garcia's authentic Spanish cuisine." As I walked away, I began to whistle, then to sing. "I'll give you a daisy a day dear/I'll give you a daisy a day/I'll love you until the rivers run still/And the four winds we know blow away.

When I got back to the blacksmith's, Snitch was still out. I undressed for bed, trying not to wake Matthew, but, as I slid under the covers, he asked, "How was it?"

I grinned into the dark. "Perfect."

**OH DEAR IT'S ANOTHER LINE OF TEXT. HAHA WATCH THIS NOT WORK AT ALL AND JUST LOOK STUPID ON THE SITE OH WELL I'M NOT CHANGING IT.**

(singing) Five reviews, five reviews, five reviews! I just love reviews/and I thank all of you/just for making me smile/I'll update in a little while (there's a reason I'm not a songwriter, OK)

**Artist:** Thanks for the review...and the compliment (I love those as much as reviews!) I haven't read Holes in a while (and I never saw the movie, although I love Shia) but if Zero is the quiet one who escapes with, um, the main character, then I guess he is like Matthew.

**Daydream:** The only part of NC that I really visit, like, more than once, is the Asheville area. I got to camp in Brevard...Camp Kahdalea. It's just the best place in the world!! OK, I'm calm now. But, otherwise, I don't know my NC geography that well. Of course, I'm limited on the LA geography, too, so... And "cardboard cut-out newsies" is a funny thought...and yet, a wonderful one. I wonder where you can get those?

**Smartass:** Glad you like Matthew. I'm becoming more and more attached to him myself. I have a friend who lives near the Atlantic in NC, and she goes surfing all the time. Tres jealous I am. I need to stop pretending I can speak French. Anyway, that is so cool that you live in New York. Between you and Daydream, I'm gonna go mad with envy. And I can't wait to play on the rainbow. I'm making up a rainbow song and dance number right now.

**Koodles:** Hey, I just emailed you! Haha! So I already answered your review. Oh well, there's always room for another shout-out. Here's a hug (hands you a hug). Enjoy!

**Mydela:** Thanks for the review. You will be finding out about Matthew soon. Or not. I have no idea how much longer this is going to go on. I wouldn't have even guessed this long at first. But I do already have Micheal's nicknaming ceremony typed up (OK, so it's not a ceremony...it should be. Can you imagine Jack or someone with a sword: "I hereby dub thee "?


	5. Maria

* * *

OK, so the clue in the last chapter for Matthew's identity – I might as well tell you, you'll find out soon anyway – was that he was going to start charging for handing over the towel. Remember, Race: Pass the towel, Skitts: For a buck I might. That's always been one of my favorite parts, no idea why. OK, so it was really, really obscure. It made me happy. Also, thanks so much to my dear Koodles for teaching me how to draw a line. Which sounds quite silly, actually, but I really am excited about it!

* * *

_I was walking through Central Park with Maria, only now it was daytime. We talked and laughed more comfortably now. When our hands touched, there was no blushing or sweet awkwardness, just a natural entwining of fingers. I sat against a tree and pulled her down next to me. I could feel her leaning against me..._

Wait, I really could feel her leaning against me. I opened my eyes groggily to gaze at her, and was greeted instead by Snitch's grinning face.

"Good mornin'!" he chirped. I swear, he chirped it. "How was your night? And I don't mean how did you sleep?" He chuckled to himself.

"Um, fine," I answered sleepily.

He stopped and stared at me. "Fine?"

I couldn't control the delighted smile that spread over my face, although I tried. I gave in. "It was great. Maria's something else."

He laughed and slapped my back. "Yea, so's Chance. She's, well, she's...yea." He lapsed into silence for a moment, then mused, "I wonder if dey're talking 'bout us right now."

I gave an amused half-smile as I headed for the sink. "Probably not." I could already tell that Snitch would be talking about Chance just as much today as he did yesterday. Well, at least his endless praise of Chance would require no response from Matthew and I, so we were free to ignore him as we chose.

"D'you t'ink dere's any chance o' him shuttin' up 'bout 'er?" Matthew asked desperately.

Before I could reply, Snitch was at his elbow. "Did I hear you mention Chance?"

I looked at him, then back at Matthew. "Probably not," I replied sourly. I tuned Snitch out as I washed my face. After I dried my face off, I stared into the mirror for a moment. Despite my pessimism when Snitch had asked the question earlier, I wondered if Maria was thinking about me right now. Because I was sure thinking about her.

After Snitch had told us about his date for the third time – "an' den, after we split off from Specs an' Maria, Chance an' I talked a while. You know she's woikin' at da bakery two blocks over. She said dat she actually walked outta 'er way every weekend when she was makin deliveries, jus' to pass dis place an' catch a glimpse o' me. So, we joked 'round fer a while, den, when I dropped 'er off, I kissed 'er. An', well, I dropped 'er off again a while after dat..." – Matthew had had enough.

He looked around for a distraction, then settled on me. "I wanna hear 'bout Thomas's date."

I groaned inwardly. I had hoped Snitch's chatter would keep me from having to share my date. I wasn't much for talking over things, especially not personal things. And, for some reason, although my date with Maria hadn't been anything really personal, I had wanted to keep it to myself a while longer. To hold it close, a delicious memory to admire as I pleased, something that was wholly mine. "C'mon, guys, you don't want to hear all that."

Now Snitch's interest was caught. "Oh, yes, we do. Every last detail!"

Well, maybe if I gave them a short version. "We just walked around and talked for a while, then I brought her home."

"C'mon, man, give us a little more than that," Matthew said, sounding exasperated, "What did you talk about?"

"Well, first about where we lived, before New York, I mean. Then she told me a little about her family." Despite myself, I was warming to the story, reliving every emotion through my words. "Then our accents. I love the way she talks. And then I brought her home, and we just talked about little things. And that's all." Matthew and Snitch raised their eyebrows at me. "Really," I insisted.

"You didn't even kiss 'er g'night?" Snitch asked in astonishment.

"No," I replied, startled. "It was our first date. I just – I wanted to, but I also wanted to hold off, get to know her better."

"Well," Matthew said finally, "he talks like a Southern gen'l'man, an' I guess 'e acts like one, too."

After that we went back to Snitch's date, and I found that, as long as I kept looking at him and nodding occasionally, I could relive the feel of Maria's hand in mine and concentrate on the gentle rise and fall of her voice. But, mostly, I could watch her smile in all its different aspects. I had shared what happened and what was said, but that smile, at least, remained mine.

That night we stayed in, eating dinner at the blacksmith's. But then, on Wednesday, we had dinner with the newsies, and, of course, Snitch and I had to give accounts of our dates. Snitch never seemed to tire of retelling his, sharing every last detail of his conversation with Chance. Although he did, at least, only skim over the last few minutes as he "dropped her off." I, on the other hand, had a hard time offering the boys the minutiae they wanted.

"Ah, Specs ain't got anyt'ing to tell," Snitch laughed finally. "'E jus' talked wit' 'er."

After the obligatory jokes and comments had been made, Matthew, who hadn't so much as met anyone's eye since we'd arrived, spoke up. "I bet Maria's braggin' to Chance what a gen'l'man she's got. An' I bet Chance is more'n a little jealous." He shrunk back as everyone stared at him. "I'm jus' sayin'," he whispered.

Jack stood up and said boisterously, "Whatsamatter? You scared or somet'in'? When you say somet'in' like dat you gotta be able to back it up."

Crutchy looked at Jack, "Hey, Jack, calm down. I'm sure 'e didn't mean anyt'ing by it. Did you?" he asked Matthew. Then he frowned in concern. "Hey, are you alright?"

"He's OK," Snitch offered, "he jus' gets a little nervous and skittery in big groups an' people 'e don't know an' stuff."

"Skittery," I chortled, "is that even a word?"

"Hey, we ain't all educated like you, Mr. Southern gen'l'man," Snitch responded lazily. "I guess it's a woid now. In fact," he turned excitedly to Matthew, "it's yer new nick." He stood solemnly in front of Matthew, "I 'ereby dub you Skittery." (A/N: I had to stick that in there somewhere.)

Matthew – well, Skittery – made a face, but everyone else seemed to approve. And, to his relief, the focus had shifted from his earlier statement.

The next day, while we were once again hard at work, Snitch began lecturing Skittery about his "anti-social tendencies." Frankly, I was personally so impressed that Snitch had used that phrase that I didn't even pay attention to the lecture. Until, that is, he admitted that he had overheard some lawyer talking about it to a colleague.

I tuned back in to the lecture. "I mean, da guys ain't gonna hurt ya. Dey might rough you a little bit, but jeez, Skitts."

"Skitts?" Skittery interrupted, "you're already givin' me a nick for my nick?"

Snitch gave him a stern look. "You're changing the subject. Now, I want you to try – and I mean, _try_ – to talk to da guys a little bit more. Y'know, like you talk to us when it's jus' us woikin'." I had to smile at the way Snitch was lecturing Matthew...um, Skittery. He sounded just like my mother. Thinking of Mother, I frowned. I hadn't heard from her since I got to New York. Not that I expected her to write me every day, but I was her only child! Couldn't she have written one letter to see how I was? Snitch's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Ain't dat right, Specs?" he asked expectantly.

"Absolutely," I replied automatically.

That day after work, I told Snitch and Matthew – argh, no Skittery – that I didn't feel much like going to see the guys tonight. As soon as they were gone, I grabbed my hat and headed out the door. I walked quickly, but, before long, I saw a flower shop. I smiled, then began whistling.

_I'll buy you a daisy a day, dear_

I walked up to the shop owner and tried to get her attention, but she was busy convincing a man that he really needed a dozen red roses, not just one.

_I'll buy you a daisy a day._

Finally, she turned to me. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'd like a daisy, please."

"Just one daisy? Are you sure, young man? Tell me about this girl you're buying them for. Is she special?"

I grinned. "She sure is."

"Then perhaps you'll want more than just one. To let her know how special she is."

I finally convinced her that I really did only want one – she refused to believe me until I showed her the tiny amount of money in my pocket – then headed off for Casa Garcia.

_I'll love you until the river runs still,_

_And the four winds we know blow away._

My confidence faltered a little as I walked into the restaurant. A forbidding man who bore too much of a resemblance to Maria to be anyone but her father was flanked by two equally forbidding boys. "I'm, um...looking for Maria?" It came out less firmly than I would have liked, but I wasn't complaining. At least I managed to talk without squeaking.

"Who are you?" he questioned.

"Well, sir, I'm, uh, you see, I'm..." I fumbled

"Specs!" Maria said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

At the sight of her, my earlier good spirits came flying back, and I grinned. "I'm here to see you. What did you think?"

She smiled in delight. "I'll be right back," she said, gesturing to the tray in her hands.

I smiled unsurely at her father for a moment, and we sat in silence for a while before he asked me, "So, Specs, what is it you do?"

"I work at Tanner's Smithy down the road, sir," I replied. So far, so good.

"And you are the boy who Maria was with on Monday, no?"

"Yes. Yes, that was me."

"Well," he stated. And again, "well."

"Well what, sir?" I couldn't resist asking.

"Well, she seems to like you enough," he said finally. "So that is good."

I exhaled in relief. Maria came out of the back room. She glanced at her father, then said, "Let's go outside." After we had walked for a little while, she said, "So, what did you want?"

"Well, to give you this, for one thing." I handed her the daisy. "And just, I don't know, to see you."

She laughed lightly, and I memorized her laugh, a tune to keep me occupied while I worked. "You walked nine blocks to come see me and give me a flower."

It was a statement, not a question, but I still felt the need to explain myself. "It's just...well, yes. I wanted to see you." I flushed hotly. "I kept thinking about you, so..." I trailed off.

She smiled shyly. "I'm glad you came."

I stopped and looked at her. "Yea?"

"Yea," she said. We wandered along for a while longer, talking about nothing and everything, just like last time. Finally, she said, "I better get back. Padre will wonder where I've been, and the restaurant isn't closed yet."

I walked her back, and this time, I was the one who kissed her softly on the cheek, bending down a little so I could smell her hair and her skin. Then I turned and walked away. I looked back before I turned the corner, and she was still standing there, watching me go. When she saw me turn, though, she jumped as though to run inside. Then she smiled – even all the way down the block I could see her smile – and waved. I waved back, and headed home.

When Snitch and Skittery got back from what had evidently been a successful visit for Skitts, they asked what I had done all evening. "Not too much," I lied, "I just read a little. I was kind of tired." The two exchanged looks. "What?" I asked defensively.

"Nothing," Skittery replied, shrugging. Then he grinned mischievously. "Was Maria happy to see you?"

"Was – what?" I asked, sitting up quickly. Then I lay back down and smiled. "How did you know?"

"Please," Snitch laughed, "what else would you have been doing? The second we got to the Lodging House, everybody asked if that's where you were."

"Huh," I replied intelligently.

"So," Snitch dragged the word out, "Did anything happen?"

"Nothing you bummers need to be concoined about." As I turned on my side with a laugh, I realized that I had slipped into a New York accent without realizing. Apparently I was adapting to this life in more ways than I thought.

* * *

**Koodles:** thanks again for the line thing. You are just proving so useful to me. And I am so attached to Matthew, too. Mainly because, as you now see, he is Skittery. And I love Skittery so much for no apparent reason. If I can bear to give him up for any amount of time, you can borrow him. (hugs Skittery tightly, then sends him over to Koodles) Be kind to him while you have him! And remember he likes strawberry everything!

**Smartass:** My beloved faithful reviewer. I'm glad you liked that last chapter. It kept making me smile irrationally, but I wasn't sure what other people would think because, well, of course it made me happy, I wrote it! Yea, I love camp. It's just...wow, now I'm getting in a campy mood and I miss it. Again. I have got to stop doing this. And nobody picked up the hint about Matthew/Skitts. I think I enjoyed it way too much. Good luck with Chicago!


	6. another date and bad news

Y'all, I'm sorry I haven't updated in a few days. Here are my excuses: I stayed up late one night watching Dirty Dancing (the original, of course) and Wizard of Oz. The next night, I went bow fishing. Let me tell you about bow fishing, since I'm sure you've never heard of it before – I hadn't. You go out late at night on boat with a shallow draw, and they shine bright lights into the shallow water. Every time you see a fish of decent size, you take your bow and arrow (yes, you read that right) and you shoot at them. I am not making this up. And...it. Is. So. Fun! Seriously.

On a different note, I have that Garth Brooks song She's Every Woman stuck in my head right now. At least I think that's what it's called: She's sun and rain/fire and ice/a little crazy but it's nice... you know, that song. I love that song. Anyway, that's irrelevant. Carry on.

* * *

Despite the fact that I had refused to answer their questions the night before, finally resorting to turning to the wall and snoring loudly until they stopped pestering me, I was greeted with more questions in the morning. I rolled my eyes. "Guys, nothing happened. I swear."

"Right," Snitch said. "You went all da way to Maria's house to visit 'er an' den, what? She wasn't home?"

"No, but, I mean, nothing you would be interested in," I said uncomfortably.

Skittery made a face at me, but directed his statement to Snitch. "Snitch, apparently Specs 'ere t'inks dat we ain't interested in his visit to Maria. Why is dat, do you t'ink?"

"Well," Snitch pretended to think for a moment, "y'see, low-class bummers like us are only interested in one t'ing from goils. An' since 'e didn't get none o' dat, 'e don't t'ink we wanna know." Then he grinned at me.

I groaned. "Alright, alright. But let's go down first, or Tanner will kill us."

After a good bit of stalling, the boys managed to drag the night's events out of me. Then, after about fifty overused wisecracks and sly comments at my expense, I finally retaliated. "Well," I drawled, ambling over to Snitch, "at least I'm not dating Chance."

He looked up sharply from his hammering. "What's that supposed to mean?" He tried to look dangerous, but he couldn't hide the glint of laughter in his eyes.

"Oh, nothing," I said innocently, holding up my hands in a placating manner. "Chance is a pretty little thing." I smirked. "But she's not Maria."

I turned to walk back to my table, but Skittery asked, laughing, "Are you gonna take dat kinda talk 'bout yer goil?"

There was a moment of silence, then Snitch let out a yell. "Yaaaah!" he cried, jumping onto my back.

"Oomph!" I hit the ground, the wind knocked out of me for a moment. My glasses flew across the floor. Snitch and I wrestled on the ground for a little bit before I looked up and noticed the laughing Skittery. "Let's get him," I muttered. Before he could react, we jumped on him, forming a mass of whirling, yelling, laughing boys.

Tanner came running into the room. "What is going on here?" he asked in his thick accent. We all jumped up quickly, dusting ourselves off and running back to our tables. Unfortunately, my table was on the other side of Tanner, and, as I passed, his fist shot out and caught me on the eye, knocking me to the ground for the second time that day. "Back to work," he growled, walking out.

Skittery and Snitch stared after him for a moment before looking over at me. "Are you alright?"

I touched my face tenderly, then gave a wry grin. "I've had worse," I lied. "At least my glasses were already off." I bent to retrieve them.

We worked in tense silence for about fifteen minutes, before Skittery asked, "Do you t'ink 'e chooses not to talk much, or 'e jus' can't handle dat many thoughts at once?" Snitch and I grinned at him, and, though we continued to work quietly, the camaraderie that we had grown used to was back.

Apparently, Snitch and Chance had agreed on another date that night, so, after I told him to tell Chance to tell Maria that I would meet her in front of her family's restaurant on Saturday at 7:00, it was a Snitch-less duo that headed to the Newsies Lodging House that night, looking for something to do. When we got there – after getting lost about a thousand times, since Skittery had only been there once and I had never been – the manager of the Lodging House, who introduced himself as Kloppman, said that the boys were upstairs. "I think they're playing poker," he explained, "so you'll want to keep a close watch on your pockets."

"They wouldn't...pick our pockets, would they?" Skittery asked in astonishment.

"No, no, no," Kloppman reassured us quickly. "It's just that the boys tend to forget that they've got to keep at least some of their money. You'll want to remember how much you've got."

Skittery and I walked up the stairs, opened the door, and headed straight into a closet. However, we agreed not to spread that around, and tried to appear casual as we walked into the bunkroom. With a few exceptions, everyone was gathered around a circle of boys, in the center of which was a fair-sized pile of money. It looked as though Blink, Jack, and Itey were the only ones still playing. I wondered for a moment why Racetrack, who I'd heard was an avid gambler, wasn't there, but I was distracted by the greeting that arose from the group.

As everyone was shouting hellos, Race walked in with his arms full of food, answering my earlier question. "Hey, guys, I got it!" he yelled. Then he turned to us, "Hey, what were you'se guys doing in the closet?"

Skittery and I glanced at each other, then sat down quickly. "Deal us in," Skittery said, and the game began.

Two hours later, Skittery and I walked out of the Lodging House. Our pockets weighed lighter in our pants, but heavier on our minds. I groaned, "Skitts, I can't believe I just lost all that money in there."

"Yea," Skittery agreed glumly. "Dat was pretty stupid."

Needless to say, we were not in the mood to face Snitch's inevitable elation over his date with Chance. As we neared the blacksmith's shop, Skittery said darkly, "Dat boy jus' better keep 'is mouth shut tonight, dat's all I'm sayin'." Fortunately, Snitch still wasn't back, so Skittery and I had time to crawl into bed and pretend to be asleep when Snitch came back. However, our closed eyes didn't stop us from hearing his off-key singing or occasional one-sided conversations. Slowly, I began to grin. After all, my night hadn't been all that bad. Sure, I had lost a lot of money – more than I had intended – but I had fun. I looked over at Skittery to see if he was sharing my thoughts, but he was still facing the wall. I shrugged and went to sleep.

The next day, it was obvious that Skittery was still in a bad mood. Before Snitch had even opened his mouth about Chance, Skittery walked up to him and said, quite calmly and evenly, "Don't talk." Chance stared wide-eyed at me as Skittery walked out of the room and downstairs.

I shrugged, "I don't know. He was in a bad mood last night after we...um...played poker."

Snitch noticed my hesitance in saying that, and he grinned. "You played wit' Race an' Itey, didn't you?"

I made a face. "Yea," I admitted.

He slung his arm around my shoulders as we walked downstairs. "I let you out by yerself fer one night, an' you can't handle it," he mocked.

"Well," I said sarcastically, "maybe if my _friend_ had let me know dat dose bummers..." I trailed off, open-mouthed. "I mean, that they..."

But Snitch was already laughing. "Aww, too bad. Maria jus' loved yer accent."

I swatted him. "Aw, shut it."

Snitch and I had predicted that Skittery's bad mood would fade out by lunch, but he was still going strong when I left to meet Maria. Even our weekly pay did nothing to cheer him up. His last words to me before I left were, "Have fun wit' yer goil. Not dat you can trust goils or anyt'ing." Snitch raised his eyebrows at me, and I walked out with a heavy feeling in my stomach.

That faded as soon as I saw Maria. She was waiting for me outside of Casa Garcia, and I paused in my walking when I saw her. The setting sun was caught in her hair, bringing out the red highlights hidden in her black locks. The color was mirrored in her flushed cheeks, and she was smiling at the sight of some children playing in the street. My breath caught at the thought that this girl – this amazing, fun, beautiful girl – was really interested in me.

At that moment, Maria turned in my direction. "Specs!" she cried, running to greet me with a hug.

I laughed, picking her up and spinning her around. "So, where to?" she asked, once we had stopped laughing. Then she noticed my bruise. She touched it gently, asking, "What happened?"

I shrugged uncomfortably. "Nothing really. Tanner, the blacksmith I work for, caught us goofing around during work hours." I shrugged again. "No big deal."

Maria looked worried. "Are you sure..." she began to ask, then seemed to change her mind. Her expression changed as she asked again, "Where are we going?"

"Well, I figured that we could eat dinner somewhere and then just walk around for a while."

"Our dates are falling into a pattern," she smiled.

"We could do something else, if you'd like," I offered.

"No, I like this," she replied. She started walking, then turned to me. "Um, where are we eating?"

I laughed, and shrugged. "Wherever you want."

After dinner, we walked around the city, just as we had on our last two dates. But, somehow, this one was different. We laughed more and chattered and teased each other instead of dreamily discussing nonsensical things. The moonlight quality, the excitement and mystery of a new relationship was gone from our date, replaced by a comfortable sort of happiness. There wasn't an obvious aura of magic hanging about, but I found that I rather liked the change. I also discovered that the magic wasn't completely gone as we walked back toward Maria's apartment arm in arm. And, this time, when I wanted to kiss her softly smiling mouth, I did.

I didn't head back to the smithy right away. Instead, I wandered around for a while, reliving all my time with Maria. I looked up from my thoughts to realize that I was in an unfamiliar part of town. I smiled and shook my head. I really had to stop falling into these reveries or I was going to get into trouble someday. I sighed and headed back to the blacksmith's to face another round of questions.

To my surprise, the others weren't back yet. Not having a watch, I wasn't sure exactly what time it was, but I knew that it was late. After all, I had spent a lot of time with Maria, then wandered around for a while before realizing that I was lost and finding my way back. I was trying to decide where they could be when I heard the door open and a frowning Skittery stalked in, heading straight for the washroom. Snitch wasn't too far behind.

He followed my gaze to the washroom and gave an exasperated sigh. "Well, I'm jus' glad I didn't bet on how long dis mood was gonna last. Cuz I'd o' lost ten times over."

"He's been like this all night?"

"Well," Snitch paused, "yea. I mean, we went out wit' a buncha friends to a vaudeville, fer Chrissake! Most people are pretty happy when dey do dat, right? But no, not Skitts over dere. I swear, we shoulda named 'im Glum'n'Dumb instead o' Skittery." He grinned. "Dat's what Race kept callin' 'im all night. Glum'n'Dumb. Skitts was so mad."

Snitch's tirade was cut off by Skittery's reentrance into the room. Without looking at either of us, he climbed into bed. I had expected to be inundated with questions again, but Skittery's bad mood had a dampening effect on all of us, so Snitch and I got ready for bed in silence, without our usual goofing off, and turned in.

The next morning, I went to church again, for what would turn out to be the last time. When I got home, still trying to convince myself that I felt better – my mantra was, "I am cleansed. I am pure. I am holy" – Tanner shoved a letter at me. I received an extremely predictable grunt when I asked, "Who's it from?" It didn't matter. I could already guess. Mother was the only person who would be writing to me.

Because of that fact, I was surprised to see a page filled with a tiny, precise hand, instead of my mother's untidy, sprawling writing. The letter was dated almost two weeks ago. I tried to do some quick figuring, finally coming to the conclusion that Tanner must have had this letter for at least five days. Rolling my eyes and muttering dark comments at his expense, I began to read:

_Thomas Pickens,_

I smiled at the thought that my given name was becoming unfamiliar to me.

_My name is Frank Collins; I am the coroner of your county. I regret to inform you that on [some date that I don't feel like making up] your mother, Mary Hardy Pickens, passed away. Her death was natural, resulting from a sickness that she caught while visiting an ill friend. I am also functioning as a lawyer, and I ask that you return to you home immediately upon receiving this letter to settle the will. Again, I offer my condolences._

_Sincerely,_

_Frank P. Collins_

I stared at the letter after I had read it, stood up and walked around the room, then sat down and read it again. Dead. Mother was dead. Had been for quite some time, apparently. I was amazed at how clearly I was thinking as I realized that that explained the absence of letters. I walked upstairs slowly to see Snitch sitting on his bed.

"How was choich?" he asked with a smirk. Then without waiting for an answer, he continued, "Skitts is in a better mood today. He didn't say anyt'ing 'bout last night, dough. Jus' woke up smilin' again, same as always, an'...say, are you alright? 'Cause you look like someone jus' died." He chuckled. "What're dey doin' to you at dat choich, anyway?"

"My mother," I said faintly.

"What about yer muddah?" Skittery asked, walking in.

I cleared my throat. "Someone did just die. My mother." I began to babble, "Well, actually, she didn't _just_ die, but I did only just get the letter." Somehow, telling them made it extremely real. I began to shake.

"Are you alright?" Snitch asked me quietly.

"Sure," I lied, "it's just, you know, she was my mother. And, well, I hadn't seen her in a while, but I just...I'm going to miss her." My hesitant words seemed to hang about me. They were inadequate for what I was feeling. And yet, what was I feeling? Not very much, that was for sure. I was shaking and very sad, but it didn't seem like enough. "Why am I not crying?" I asked desperately. "My _mother_ died. I love her. She's a wonderful mother." A thought struck me, and I corrected myself, "Well, was, anyway. What kind of terrible person am I that I don't cry when my mother dies?"

Any other time, I would have laughed at the lost expression on Skittery's face. He so obviously didn't know what to do. He couldn't say a single thing to me to alleviate my pain, although he had gone through so much more than I. That's the way things are on the streets, though. You can't let grief in, because one bad thing comes after another, and soon you're grieving all the time. So, you push back sorrow, shove it out of your mind to deal with later, and you just forget about it. Skittery had experienced more pain than I ever had, but he couldn't help me because he couldn't help himself.

Snitch stood up hesitantly and walked over to me. He squatted in front of me, where I sat on my bed, and put his hand on my shoulder. "Yer not a bad poison," he insisted. "You jus' dunno what to do yet."

I nodded. "Could you just...I just want..."

"Sure, we'll leave you alone," Snitch straightened back up, looking undeniably relieved. We'll jus' be downstairs if you need anyt'ing, awright?"

I sat there for a long time after they left, before I began packing. Mr. Collins had said soon, and it had already been two weeks. I would surely miss the funeral, but I could at least see her grave, and..." at the thought of my mother's grave, I finally broke down. I cried until I began to frighten myself with the intensity of my sobs. I struggled to calm down, to choke back my tears. Finally, I regained control of myself. I told myself sternly to pull it together. "Yes, Thomas, she was a good mother, and, yes, you loved her, but you've got to control yourself," I said sternly to the mirror. "You've got to take care of yourself now, and no crying is going to change that." Still, I couldn't repress a little shudder at the thought that I was now completely alone.

I don't know how long I sat upstairs, but, when I finally headed down, I had carefully erased all signs of tears, and I was carrying a suitcase. Snitch started up. "Where're you goin'?" he asked.

"I've got to go home," I replied. "There's some stuff I need to clear up."

Snitch nodded, and Skittery asked, "But you'll be comin' back, right?"

I shrugged. "I don't have anything to stay there for. Now," I whispered. "I'm going to talk to Tanner," I said, louder. After everything was settled with him – I was to have the week off and be back by next Sunday – I turned to go. "Oh, Snitch?" He looked up. "Um, tell Maria 'bye' for me. Soon, please, so she doesn't wonder where I've been all week. And tell her I won't be able to see her Saturday night, but I'll try to come by on Sunday."

He nodded and shook my hand. "I'll see you in a week. And," he looked uncomfortable, "it's gonna be OK, Specs."

"Yea," Skittery muttered, "jus' hang in dere, awright?"

"Hang in there," I thought as I walked out the door, "I'll do my best."

* * *

Y'all, I know the insults exchanged between Snitch and Specs were lame, but I just couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make them look like jerks. And you know what else I noticed? Snitch, Specs, and Skittery – all "S"s. Weird, huh?

OK, I told myself that I wouldn't do it. I swore that I wouldn't beg. But I just can't hold out any longer! REVIEW! Please. Look at the way I'm degrading myself, and review out of pity. Or, you know, because you like/dislike the story. Whatever floats your boat. And then, I'll answer in the story, and you can be as cool as these lucky people:

**Smartass:** Very nice detective work on the Skittery thing. And I'm glad you liked that chapter so much. (sigh) I wish that I had a guy like Specs. Or at least who thought I was as wonderful as he thinks Maria is. Wow, OK, it's really sad when you start having crushes on your own characters!

I'm so glad that you like this story so much! I love reading your reviews, they're such confidence boosters!

You should definitely do everything in your power to go to camp next year. Any camp, really, although Kahdalea is, of course, the best. I think that everyone should go to camp. But I'm not biased or anything.

**Koodles:** I know, Skittery is the greatest. I just want to hug him. Although, like I just told Smartass, I'm obsessed with the way Specs just worships Maria. Great balls of fire! He is so cute! And you know what else? I'm only just realizing that Specs actually is pretty cute. I'm going to have to go watch the movie again (big sacrifice there) and check that out.

**Daydream:** Evidently Skitts was pretty obvious, because a few people guessed him. Well, I guess that's good, in a way. And Kahdalea is pretty small and a lot of the people who go there are from Baton Rouge, so I guess most North Carolinians (well, what else would you call yourself?) wouldn't have heard of it.


	7. the end

Well, this is it. And it's a good thing, too, because school is starting tomorrow, I still haven't finished my summer reading (can you believe that? I'm such a slacker) and I can not can not CAN NOT stay up this late anymore. Really. I'm not going to.

* * *

I surprised myself by finding that my best wasn't all that bad. I hung in there with a vengeance, through a will that left me everything and, thereby, nothing – the farm had gone steadily downhill after Dad died, I knew that – through the double-edged condolence visits of gossiping neighbors and the subtle sneers at my slight New York accent and demeanor. And, when I returned to New York the next Sunday, I was surprised to find that it felt like coming home. I didn't go to church that day because I missed all of the early services while on the train, and I had never liked evening services. However, I was determined to go every Sunday after this, as a testament to my mother.

I walked to the smithy, hoping that my friends would be there, and yet dreading the moment when I would have to face them. I hated the awkwardness that always followed grief. So, it was with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment that I opened the door to our room to find it empty. I set my bag down on top of my bed, kicked off my shoes, and leaned back. As I laid my head down, I heard a loud crinkling. I sat up quickly to grab the note that had been put on my pillow.

"Good to have you back. Down at Tibby's for lunch if you want to come."

I thought about it for a moment, wondering whether the initial discomfort with the boys would be worth them taking my mind off of my mother's death. I shrugged, realizing that I had to see them sometime, and pulled my shoes back on.

The bell tinged loudly as I walked into Tibby's, but the sound went unnoticed in the general noise of the newsies and their friends. And, I was shocked to realized as I looked around, their girls. I had never really seen girls mingling with the newsies – I figured that the boys all took their girls out on dates, as I had, rather than bringing them to meet all the boys.

I spotted Snitch and Chance at a table, so I began to make my way over. It was harder than I had anticipated, though, as I was stopped at every turn by yet another friend slapping me on the back and greeting me jovially. Perhaps a bit too jovially, I thought. I shook my head. I was being paranoid. Letting it get to me. I had to be strong. I couldn't think about it, couldn't let it affect me.

I reached around Snitch's back and tapped him on the opposite shoulder from where I was standing. He glanced behind him, then, confused, spun all the way around before he saw me. (A/N: I love doing that to people. Love it.) "Hey!" he said, surprised. Then, apologetically, "we didn't know when you was getting' back, or we woulda been dere."

"That's alright," I replied. "We would have just ended up here anyway." I looked around. "Where's Skitts?"

Snitch shrugged, "He's around somewheres. Probably teasin' Mush." He rolled his eyes, "You know how Mush believes evert'ing, well, Skitts jus' loves tellin' 'im all kinda lies."

I laughed. It felt good, after being forced into seriousness by constantly serious company. Then Chance cleared her throat. Still grinning, I said, "Sorry. Hey, Chance."

"I was wonderin' when you was gonna notice me," she said, trying to sound angry but failing miserably. She smiled, then turned serious, "So...how are you?"

I shrugged uncomfortably, remembering my decision. Be strong. Don't let it affect you. "I'm fine."

"You'se sure?" she pressed me.

I nodded, "Yea." I changed the subject quickly. "So, how's Maria been?" I pulled up a chair as I asked.

"Fine," Chance answered. "She's really excited dat yer back. You goin' over dere tonight?"

Before I could answer, Snitch said, "Dey should go wit' us to da vaudeville tonight." He turned to me. "We'se all takin' our goils to Medda's tonight." He nodded toward Jack, "Cowboy over dere knows da owner. Da Meadowlark 'erself," he grinned. "An', since dere ain't a lot o' business on Sundays, she's lettin' us 'ave da joint fer da night."

Chance looked excited. "Oooh, you should! I'll go tell 'er right now if you want, den we can get ready."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "I could go over there."

"I don't t'ink dat's such a good idea," she said nervously. "'Er dad don't like it when she's off da job, like. Especially wit' boys."

"Really? He seemed perfectly fine with it when I went."

"Well, maybe 'e likes you. Or maybe it was a one-time t'ing. All I know is, 'e gets kinda mad when Maria gets interrupted."

"Well, what about you?" I asked. "Won't he be angry with you?"

She grinned, "Nah. Ever since I been on da streets, I'se visited Maria all da time. 'E's used to me." She stood, "I'se goin' now, aight." She stooped to kiss Snitch on the cheek, but he stood up to wrap his arms around her and kiss her soundly. I stared in shock. I couldn't imagine kissing Maria – or any girl, for that matter – in such a public fashion. In North Carolina, public displays of affection are frowned upon. As in, considered terribly indecent. Still, I couldn't help but grin and join in as our table erupted in hoots and catcalls.

Chance finally pulled away, smiling and blushing furiously, muttering, "I'll see you'se tonight?"

"Eight o' clock," Snitch responded as she rushed out the door.

That night, we all headed out to Medda's to see her show and dance the night away. At home, Snitch, Skittery, and I talked late into the night, Snitch and I having walked our respective girls home, laughing about Skittery's escapades with some girl from Queens who he'd met that night.

And, soon, my life fell back into its previous pattern. My days were spent in hard work at the forge, although the work was getting easier as my muscles developed. My nights were spent either with the newsies or Maria, sometimes both. Skittery still went through the occasional bad mood, but they rarely lasted more than a day, and Snitch and I had learned to notice the warning signs. Tanner still gave one or the other of us a good pop occasionally for getting distracted, but we never could seem to learn our lesson. The bruises were almost worth the pain, anyway, with Maria's gentle mothering and care. The first Sunday after my return to New York, I skipped church to help some of the newsies sell papers, reasoning that that was a religious act, and I could go to church next week. And, slowly, it became easier to make those excuses. A month drifted by with little change. I was comfortable and well-fed, with friends, a great girl, and the promise of a roof over my head. I should have known it was too good to last.

"'Ey, Skitts," Snitch yelled over the sound of our hammers one Monday at the forge, "tell me 'bout dat goil you was wit' last night." Skittery was notorious for finding some girl or another nearly every time we all took our girls out together. He swore that it was just because he got bored while we were all entertaining our girls, that all he did was dance and talk and laugh until it was time to go, but we liked to treat them as conquests anyway, so we teased him mercilessly.

Skittery looked up in surprise, "What?"

"Yea, I'd pretend I didn't remember, too. She definitely wasn't one o' yer best," Snitch chuckled.

I laughed, "Not dat 'is best are all that great." I had semi-adopted a New York accent, but was still trying to fight it. As a result, I often started my sentences sounded like a New York native, but corrected myself quickly, ending in my old Southern accent.

Skittery mock-glared at the two of us. "Are you sayin' dat I can't get a pretty goil?"

"I believe that's exactly what we're saying," I answered. Then I raised my eyebrows at Snitch. "Maybe that's why. He ain't – isn't – too smart either."

Skittery looked like he was trying to think of a good comeback. "Whatsamatter?" Snitch taunted, "Cat got yer tongue?"

Finally, Skittery jumped up, "Well, he ain't got my fists!"

And that was that. Once again, we were rolling on the floor, wrestling, punching, yelling, and just generally having a grand old time. At this inopportune moment, Tanner walked in. Skittery saw him first and froze, drawing our attention to the door. He stalked in and stared down at us where we lay, panting and frightened. We were used to his punishments, but that didn't mean we dreaded them any less. This time, though, he didn't move to strike us. He just stared until we had all righted ourselves.

Finally, he spoke. "That is it. Final. No more. You three are not good, hard-working boys that I am looking for. I have many boys who look for work here. They would be thanking me always for giving them work and food by working hard. But not you. So, you not work for me no more."

He glared around at us, but I think that we were all so astonished at this demonstration of Tanner's ability to string multiple sentences together that his words themselves failed to register.

"I said, get out!" he grunted loudly.

We all jumped. "You – um, you don't want us to finish today?" I asked timidly.

"Go! Now!" Tanner moved threateningly toward us, but before he could give us another blow for old time's sake, we were up the stairs.

"I can't believe we jus' got fired," Skittery said, half-laughing, half-serious. "I mean, it's not like I liked woikin' 'ere or anyt'ing, but it was a good job, an' it paid good an' stuff."

"What are we gonna do now?" Snitch asked, not really expecting an answer.

"I dunno – don't know," I replied, "but I'm sure we can find something."

Skittery turned to me sarcastically. Uh-oh, sarcasm. I can see a bad mood coming on. "An' whatta you know 'bout da streets? You went straight from a sweet little farm wit' a nice family an' a picket fence, probably, to a cushy job dat offers room'n'board, plus good pay. We ain't gonna find anudda job like dis."

"He's right," Snitch said, looking as though he hated to admit it. "Dere ain't any odder jobs out dere like dis. Not dat we'se gonna get, anyway."

By this time we had finished packing. I stood up. "Well," I said sarcastically, "let's get outta 'ere so that we can start looking for those jobs that we're not going to get."

Snitch and Skittery didn't reply, just picked up their bags and shuffled out the door. Fuming, I waited until they were gone, then slung my bag over my shoulder with more force than strictly necessary and stormed down the stairs.

Tanner was waiting with a week's pay. "Here," he grunted. Then he put his hand on the shoulder of a boy standing in front of him. "He is going to take over now," he said smugly.

The boy gave us an appraising look that held some sympathy, but it was obvious that he was ecstatic over the good fortune that resulted from our bad luck. I couldn't blame him, really. He didn't know us, so he couldn't care about us. He had to take what he could get.

Once on the street, our feet automatically led us toward Tibby's. Halfway there, we realized what we were doing, but, as it was lunchtime anyway, we continued forward. When we got to Tibby's the newsies that were there looked up in surprise. "What are you doin' 'ere?" Jack asked.

Skittery stepped forward. "Dese morons got us fired."

My jaw dropped, "'These morons'?" I repeated incredulously. "How is dis our fault?"

"Well," Skittery said, with the patronizing air of one explaining something quite obvious to a small child, "you jus' couldn't stop startin' dose fights."

"If I remember correctly," I said coldly, "you were the one who threw the first punch. And I don't seem to recall you trying to stop the fight, either."

Skittery stepped forward, flushing, "Don't you be usin' none o' dose gen'l'man airs wit' me," he said indignantly, "I –"

Jack stepped between us, "Alright, alright, dat's enough." He shoved us lightly, then turned to Snitch. "Since you seem to be pretty calm 'bout all dis, I'se gonna ask you. From what I'se hearin', you t'ree got yerselves fired. Right?" Snitch nodded. "So, where you gonna go?"

"I dunno," Snitch groaned, "I heard dere's jobs as dockhands down at da docks, but I don't—"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Jesus, do I gotta spell everyt'ing out fer you? Dere's an easier option 'ere." He stared at us expectantly, and, when none of us answered, he groaned. "Be a newsie! Wit' us. You already know how, pretty much, from helpin' us out on Sundays and all."

The three of us looked around at each other in amazement. "Actually," Skittery admitted, "dat's a good idea."

Snitch started to laugh, "I can't believe none o' us thought o' dat."

So, we became newsies. That night, after checking into the Lodging House, I went to visit Maria. Her Dad had become more accustomed to me over the last month, allowing me to come in without trying to appear too threatening. As Maria and I followed our customary route around Central Park, I told her about the day's events. "So," I finished, "we're all going to become newsies."

"I'm glad," she said simply.

I stopped and stared at her in astonishment. "You're glad I got fired?"

"Well, no, I'm not happy about that, but I didn't like you working for that man. He hit you!"

I shook my head at her, spouting back the opinions of Snitch and Skittery, "Yea, but that happens, you know? And it was a good job. The pay was good, and I had a place to sleep every night. Now it's going to be touch-and-go."

"I still think that he shouldn't have hit you," she said adamantly. And she looked so sweet as she stood there defending me that I couldn't help but stoop down and kiss her quickly.

She colored slightly, as she always did when I kissed her in public places – the newsies antics had quickly erased my distaste for that, although I still didn't like to kiss her when I was with other people – and smiled at me. One of those bright smiles of hers that made me feel like the king of the world. Or at least of New York. And, since she just made me so happy that I could bust, I pulled her gently off of the path and kissed her again.

I leaned my forehead against hers and whispered, "Because I love you," in response to her query as to the reason for my kisses.

She put her hand to my cheek and smiled as she answered, "I love you, too."

I broke into an uncontrollable grin as I took her hand and we continued walking. After a while, I asked her, "Whadda you t'ink of goin' to da vaudeville wit' Race an' 'is goil tomorrow?"

She wrinkled her nose, then started to laugh. "Well, if you don't wanna..." I said in surprise.

"No, it's not that, it's just...you sounded so New York just now." She burst into fresh peals of laughter at the comical expression on my face.

I groaned in exasperation. "I can't get rid of it. It just keeps jumping up on me."

"Well," she said, in a bad imitation of my new accent, "I guess yer really a newsie now."

And, as we laughed, I thought of how sweet those words sounded, as my girl said them. I guess I'm not doing too bad for myself after all.

* * *

**Smartass:** Well, Nancy, it's nice to meet you. OK, bad joke. Anyway, I saw that you wrote Daft and Crusoe into your story. And Somtetimes! Haha I love that name so much!

Kahdalea is...well, I could just go one forever. But it's kind of the stereotypical summer camp, I guess. No particular theme or anything, just up in the mountains. Mountain biking, hiking, canoeing, horseback riding, rock climbing, archery, the list goes on and on. And we just play so much, and we all get so close. I just love it to pieces!

**Koodles:** (sigh) my last chapter. And I was so attached to these darling characters of mine. I can never spell that word. I always write attatched. And I liked the happy ending. Maybe I'll write a sad one later, but for now, I'm all about happy.

**Myrna:** Yay! Someone else is begging so I don't feel so pathetic! Well, this is it. It ends kind of suddenly, I guess, but I really need to stop it so I can start school with at least 5 hours of sleep. Wait, that doesn't happen even when I'm not on the computer all night!


End file.
